Well Begun Is Half Done
by Kelly123
Summary: Because who ever knew Ron was so talented with a paintbrush? Unabashed FLUFF. ONE-SHOT.


_I am in desperate need of some fluff._

_And so this is my solution._

_Enjoy!_

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><p>A yellow butterfly drifted lazily through his peripheral vision, tiny and delicate and beautiful. It was hot outside and he allowed himself to be distracted by the visitor, stilling his motions as he watched it draw closer to the two of them, probably attracted by the smell of the liquid in the cans at their feet. Not wanting to spoil its beauty, he slowly lifted his free arm from where it rested at his side and brushed the tiny insect away with a sweep of his hand before it could land in the wet paint. His slight movement created just enough of a breeze to carry it away across the prairie beyond them, until in moments it was nothing more than a dot on the horizon.<p>

"You missed a spot," she said, a smirk poorly hidden in her tone.

He started a bit at the sound of her voice, snapping his arm back into place and wondering if she had seen the butterfly as well (and if she would be proud of him for saving it from getting its pretty wings ruined with paint). Thoughts swirled absently in his head as he squinted against the glare of the summer sun beaming down on the white expanse before him, rubbing the perspiration off his forehead with the back of his forearm. The temperature was high but he relished the feeling of summer finally beginning. The work was methodical and seemingly unending, but undeniably improved upon with magic. And the company...well, that certainly could not get any better. Surveying the portion of the Burrow he had undertaken with a can of paint and a brush she had charmed for him, he scanned the aging boards for his slip-up.

She had always been good at pointing out his mistakes. He was just now getting better at accepting them.

"Sorry," he replied, turning his attention away from the wall and to the girl beside him, "I must be overlooking it. Where?"

The smirk she had been biting back at the corner of her mouth broke forth into a huge grin, and though her face was already flushed from the heat and exertion, somehow it lit up even more. Her hair, uncontrollable at the best of times, kinked and frizzed to new heights in the humidity, and the skin on her exposed shoulders was acquiring a shade of pink from the sun's unrelenting rays. However, most of that skin was covered by a thin tank top, which clung to the curves of her body in a damp way that made him bless his mother for requesting that her youngest son and his girlfriend spend a perfectly good idle June day working to repaint the Weasley home. Bill had warned him of such things, but he was only now finding that his mother was far more observant than he had given her credit for while he was in school.

In short, he thought she looked absolutely gorgeous. But, as he was realizing as of late, she rarely looked anything but. It was beyond him how he had managed to remain blind to something so blatantly obvious for this many years. He could make no excuses for the way his adolescent brain had functioned though, such things were a mystery even to himself. However, he was determined to spend the rest of both their lives making up for it.

She was still smiling obscenely at him, her eyes sparkling (even more so than usual) with mirth. He tried not to be drawn in by the gap caused by the puckering of her neckline as she leaned in closer towards him, and ended up compromising by allowing himself a quick peek of tantalizingly sunburned skin before gluing his gaze directly on her face. She didn't seem to notice his darting eyes. Or if she did, she didn't mind.

"Right- "she lifted her own brush, "here!" and touched its tip directly on the end of his nose.

He blinked twice in rapid succession, then immediately wrinkled his nose as the unmistakable scent of wet paint filled his nostrils.

Hermione dissolved in giggles at the sight of Ron staring cross-eyed at the end of his nose, a glob of white paint contrasting adorably (at least in her opinion) with his freckles. She had never thought herself the kind of person who partook in such silly girlish pastimes as giggling, but lately the infectious laughter had become quite a familiar sound on her lips, since-

Since the war ended.

Since Voldemort was gone. For good.

Since Harry was safe.

Since her parents were her parents again.

Since she could throw her arms around Ron's neck and kiss him whenever she wanted to.

Since he started wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her back.

It was probably due to the kissing, more than anything…the giggling that is. Kissing and giggling went hand-in-hand quite nicely, she figured, and as a result she was becoming dearly attached to both of them.

"What? Hermione!" He exclaimed, swiping at the splotch and succeeding only in smearing it across his face. Her laughter grew more uproarious, and she dropped to her knees from the effort of trying to maintain her breathing whilst wracked by those devious giggles. But then she felt the patter of something cool hitting her shoulder, and in looking down found her arm speckled with white.

"Ron!" She shrieked, whipping her head up to stare at him open-mouthed.

"Hermione?" He said feigning innocence, one hand hidden none-too-discreetly behind his back.

She leapt to her feet, snatching up one of the charmed paintbrushes which she had set to work coating the Burrow with wide, even strokes and disrupting its activity abruptly. "Oh no you don't mister!"

"Mister? He mocked, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, mister!" She flicked the brush sharply, a sending out a spattering of droplets towards him.

He flinched at they made contact, pulling his own paintbrush from behind his back and brandishing it like a weapon. "You don't know what you are getting yourself into missy. Back out while you still can!"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Missy?"

"Yes, missy!"

"I think I'll take my chances. Mister."

And with that she launched herself at him, hurtling across the short spans of yard separating them with a squeal that was hardly intimidating. He caught her easily but allowed himself to be knocked over backwards, resting his head in the grass as she planted herself on top of his stomach. With a triumphant sweep of her brush she marked him with a wide streak of white from shoulder to shoulder, getting mostly T-shirt in the process but managing to cover a bit of his neck as well. When he lifted a hand to try and snatch her brush from out of her grasp she lifted it high in the air, using her knees to try and pin his arms to the ground.

Needless to say, he had himself freed in a matter of moments, and Hermione quickly found herself pressed against the ground with nary a paintbrush to protect herself. Not that she minded much though. The sun was bright against Ron's back, silhouetting him beautifully against the wide-open sky and she was rather enjoying the view. She squirmed halfheartedly against the burden of his weight on top of her, but would have found herself devastated if he actually removed it. Her chest heaved at the combined efforts of their wrestling and the heavy summer air, and in breathing in deeply her lungs were filled with warm earth and warm Ron, which mixed delightfully with the lovely warmth building from somewhere near her heart and spreading its way through her veins to her fingers and toes.

She was quite sure she could stay exactly like this forever, and never find a reason to move a single inch.

Except maybe her mouth, if he leaned down to kiss her.

But he wasn't kissing her, and she wondered why not. Instead he was holding up her hands, studying them intently as they lay naked and dwarfed by comparison against his own palms. He dropped her right, tracing the bones and tendons in her left hand with his calloused fingers.

"I wanted to do this properly," he mumbled, picking up her abandoned paintbrush from the ground next to them. "I have a real one and everything."

"Ron, real wha-?"

"But it's all the way up in my room, and this, right here, right now, it just seemed…well, I've always been off on my timing when it comes to you, haven't I?" He said with a smile.

She furrowed her brow in confusion, but couldn't help but to return his smile. His sweet, sincere…and was it, slightly scared, smile?

"Hermione," he isolated the finger next to her pinky and brought the end of the still damp brush into contact with her skin. She shivered, though the paint was far from cold. "Hermione, I know that you are the brightest witch of our age, but I am asking you to do something entirely stupid. Something that every bit of logic and common sense you possess in that amazing brain of yours should warn you against, but I'm hoping you don't listen. What I am hoping is that your heart won't think it's such a dumb idea, maybe that it will think it's even kind of a good idea, and I'm hoping that that is what you will listen to."

He was still staring intently at her hand, but she couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze away from his face, his wonderful freckled, paint-smeared face. Her heart was racing for some reason her highly logical brain failed to distinguish, but she found the feeling, though odd, not unpleasant. Especially with the things he was saying.

"I love you, in a completely and utterly mad kind of way...you know that don't you?" She nodded silently, biting back the questions on her tongue to let him continue. "You are, without a doubt, the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Shh- let me finish okay? I need to say this. I know I don't say it often enough, or in the proper way that you deserve, but gods, Hermione, I don't know what I would ever do without you. And I don't want to ever find out, I don't want to ever be without you." Finally, the brush finished its trip around her finger, and he lifted it up to where she could see. But first her eyes finally met his, which she was taken aback to see were wet, though it was with an equal shock that she noticed her own cheeks were as well.

"Ginny helped me pick out the other one, she said you would really like it, but I guess…what I'm asking is…I mean, will this do for now? At least until we get inside that is?"

Her eyes flickered down to her hand, where she found a thin band of white paint encircling her ring finger. She was sure it was the most stunning thing she had ever laid eyes upon.

"Hermione, what I'm trying to say is...will you marry me?"

"Oh Ron!" She gasped, right hand flying up to her mouth as she stared in wonderment at her other one.

"Is that a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes! And that is coming from my brain and my heart, you great, big, beautiful git!"

It was then that he kissed her.

Finally.

"You really are bloody mental for falling in love with me, you know that don't you?"

"I do." She said with a contented sigh, snuggling up to his chest as he rested his chin on the top of her head. "And I plan on reminding myself of that every single day for the rest of my life, when I wake up right next to you."

And she did.

**"And I'm gonna paint a diamond on your hand, you will be my bride" **

**-Jack's Mannequin**

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><p><em>Ugh, I am such a sucker for RHr fluff. I've been trying to find some good fluffy-fics to read lately and haven't been able to find any, so I decided to write one myself._

_This is how I've pictured Ron's proposal for years now, but I never had the desire to actually pen the idea. Until now, that is. So I hope you guys enjoy my interpretation. How do YOU see him popping the question? Tell me in a review!  
><em>


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